Angel of Vengeance
by calliarcale
Summary: The night guard at Freddy Fazbear's has had a rough first couple of nights - but it's about to get rougher. The boss has a new feature for the restaurant: a creepy statue of a weeping angel. I am writing this for my daughter, Bayoboo. ;-) It's set in the timeframe of the original Five Nights at Freddy's game.
1. Chapter 1

**Angel of Vengeance**  
 **a Five Nights at Freddy's/Doctor Who crossover**

* * *

So dark.

So quiet.

So very, very alone.

She really didn't know how long she had been here. She could remember so little. Every day was a new day. Oh, she knew the others here, her brothers and sister, and she knew what they had to do, every day, while she waited silently here. Then at night came the real business, when she could come out and join them.

She never really remembered it.

Not the way most people remember things.

She only knew what she was, who she was, and what they had to do.

Each night, a new night.

Even him. She knew him best of all, loved him best of all, but yet each night was a new night, starting over, as if they never had started in the first place.

And maybe they never would start. She couldn't have him, not like this.

No one wanted him, and no one wanted her.

The lights in the hallway had gone out. After a while, she let the door to the storeroom open, and peered out around the doorframe. It was silent. No music. No laughter. No voices.

No screams.

Not yet.

She scrambled up the wall in the darkness, clinging like a spider, and hung from her favorite place on the ceiling like some crazy metal chandelier. Out of sight, able to pounce on anyone who came by.

So dark.

So quiet.

But not alone anymore.

At the end of the hall, where it turned towards the main dining room, someone new was there.

She didn't know what to think about that.

She didn't remember last night. But she didn't know this new figure either, and felt uneasy about that.

Dimly, she wondered why, then dismissed the thought and settled down to wait.

* * *

"Hello, hello!"

Jeremy was twenty-five and already feeling washed up. The first night of his new guard job had been bad. Last night been worse. This wasn't worth minimum wage, but he had nowhere else to go. He owed it to his mother to at least try to hold down a job. She hadn't believed him, about the animatronics trying to come into his office. And now his stupid lazy boss was calling him up. Or rather, a recording of his boss was calling. The stupid jerkface wouldn't even talk to him on the phone; he just left messages.

"So, you've made it another night! Wow, I'm impressed. You're doing great. Ah, just so you know, we made a new purchase and you need to make sure it doesn't get damaged. It's not animatronic; it just stands there."

Oh fantastic. Another friggin' statue?

"Not sure how we're going to use it long term, but it was a great deal. Make sure you don't scratch it. Oh, and the lights have been a little screwy today, so be careful with your flashlight. Good luck!"

He pulled up his tablet and checked the security cameras. Like hell he was gonna actually go out into the restaurant and look for the damn thing. The animatronics were all where they ought to be. Bonnie, Chica, and Freddy, all standing on the stage. The curtain around Pirate Cove was closed, the out-of-order sign still in place. At the end of one hallway, there was Balloon Boy. Too far away to hear his skin-crawling giggles, which was a blessing. At the end of the other hall, though, there was the new one.

He frowned. That thing didn't fit at all with the place. But hell, nothing about this place made sense. Bringing children to see creepy robots like these? He didn't understand it. So maybe a freaky piece of religious artwork was totally normal. Looked like it belonged in a church, or maybe a tomb. It was a stone angel, covering its face with its hands like it was crying or something.

Hell, maybe if the robots didn't freak kids out, this thing would do the trick.

* * *

The newcomer was absolutely motionless.

Was it animatronic too? She didn't think so. She crept along the ceiling, closer to it. Not far away from Pirate's Cove, and him. She loved him, insofar as any of them could love, and she thought probably he loved her too. Once. In the time none of them could remember.

The newcomer was an angel, and it looked very sad. Crying.

She swung down from the ceiling to inspect the newcomer closely.

Stone. Never had stone here before.

It's not like she had any real basis for comparison, but this was not something that belonged in the Pizzaria. You were supposed to be happy here. This stone angel was not happy. It was weeping.

"The happiest day of their lives..."

She didn't know where that thought came from. She had had it many times before, so it was familiar, but she still did not know where it came from. She did not know anything beyond the endless, agonizing present.

So how did she know what stone was, then?

* * *

The cup of coffee had already gone cold. He'd brought it to stay awake, but he was equally terrified of winding up with a full bladder. He'd seen the bathrooms here in daylight; they were creepy enough then. He didn't need to see them while cornered by murderous animatronics.

He leaned out the door and peeked down the right hallway. Nothing there. He peeked down the left hallway. There was that stupid statue. And . . . did he see something moving in the shadows around it?

He darted back into his office and slammed the door shut. Probably an overreaction, but that thing was creeping him right the hell out, and *something* was there, moving . . . .

* * *

She heard the door slam.

So. He'd come back.

Somehow, she knew he'd been here before, although she couldn't remember what he looked like or who he was, or how many nights it had been for him. The adults who came here were all interchangable, equally doomed.

She swung back up to the ceiling, and turned her back on the statue, skittering along the ceiling.

There was a window, and she peeked into the office.

The man was staring back at her, his eyes wild with shock. She knew unquestioningly that he hadn't seen *her* before. She'd been in too much shadow. She turned her head slowly, letting her mouth loll open to show all her teeth, and she swung the second face around to stare at him as well.

There was another sound, from behind her.

She turned away from the window and looked back.

It had moved.

But it was stone!

She could move very quickly when she wanted to, and right now she wanted to, very very much. She did not know this newcomer. She did not trust this newcomer. It was *different* and she did not know what that meant. So she returned to her storeroom and shut the door.

* * *

The only sound he could hear for some time was the pounding of his own heartbeat, amplified by his terror. Eventually, the adrenalin rush settled, and he had the presence of mind to check the other hallway. Nothing there. And then he realized that the weird mangled monstrosity was gone from the window. Cautiously, he opened the door.

Nothing burst through it.

He let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. He felt the cold sensation of terror sweat drying on his skin, the first time he'd even realized he'd started to sweat. He checked the cameras.

Everybody was where they ought to be. Well, presumably. He didn't really know where the mangled thing belonged. Maybe in a storeroom somewhere; it looked half-finished. Or half destroyed? Had someone attacked it? A person, or one of those horrible creatures? Maybe it had a grudge, then. That was pretty chilling. As if he had any idea why any of them wanted to kill him, now he got to wonder why this thing seemed to have his number too.

Wait.

He flicked back to the left hallway camera again.

The statue.

It had moved.

Its hands were in front of it, and it was looking straight at him.

Well, looking at the camera. Obviously not at him. It was a damn statue. It couldn't possibly have a mind, and if it did, it wouldn't know what a camera was. The animatronics, well, at least they had robotics. This . . . he must have just forgotten what it looked like. It was a stone statue, and statues don't move. Something inside of him had been weeping, not the angel . . . .

But deep inside, he knew that wasn't right.

* * *

Behind his curtain in Pirate's Cove, Foxy moved.

He spent so much time back here. Mostly marked "out of order", so he didn't get to perform for the kids during the day. He never could decide if he was jealous or furious about that.

It was dark here. Dark and safe.

Except that he was here, and that meant it was not safe. Not safe at all.

There's a monster in here, you know.

The curtain retracted, and Foxy stepped out.

He started towards the hallway, to scare the new security guard again, and see how long it would take for him to quit. Or worse, if it came to that.

But then he, too, saw the statue.

It was stone, and motionless. It held its hands out, palms up, as if it was supposed to be holding a pizza, and its face was utterly calm with just the faintest hint of a smile.

Foxy could not remember what he had been before, who he had been before, if there had ever even *been* a before. But even so, something in him looked at that smile and knew that it was very wrong.

Why was this thing here? Was it actually animatronic? An interloper? Or was it flesh?

He raised his hook to tap it, but a sound behind him made him stop. He straightened up and turned his head 180 degrees around to look straight back.

Security camera.

The guard was watching.

Foxy left the statue alone.

* * *

Oh god.

It was the fox. The stupid pirate fox with his stupid eyepatch and that hook that looked way too sharp to belong in a kids' theme restaurant. What sick freak designed this place?

The fox was checking out the weird statue. Somehow that made Jeremy feel a little better, as if even the animatronics were creeped out by it. But that meant admitting they were sentient, and he really didn't want to go there. Not that he had a lot of choice, but he'd argue the point as long as he could.

And then the fox moved.

His head turned *all*the*way*around*, and Jeremy's skin crawled to see it move in that unnatural way. Foxy was looking straight at the camera.

The statue was at the end of the left hallway. Jeremy put the tablet down and got his flashlight ready. He didn't know why, but Foxy seemed to really hate the flashlight. But he didn't know how much battery he had, so he didn't turn it on. Not yet.

* * *

The guard!

Foxy walked down the hallway. He could run very fast, but for the first approach of the night, he wanted to take it slow. There was plenty of night still.

He didn't know why it felt so good to scare the security guards. So good. So. Good. SO. GOOD. Sometimes it just felt satisfying to drive them off. Grownups had no business here. Grownups were bad. The security guards were grownups. There had been a grownup, once, who had done something very, very bad . . . . And sometimes it felt good on a deeper, more visceral level. He could feel a strange thrill through his endoskeleton as he slowly approached the back office.

He imagined he could hear the guard's legs shaking. And then he heard something else. A soft sound, like a flutter, mixed with a sharper sound, like the scraping of stone on concrete. Only this wasn't the guard. The guard was in front of him. This sound came from behind.

Foxy turned his head all the way around.

The stranger had moved. Its hands were covering its face.

That wasn't right.

Foxy turned the rest of his body around to face the statue and started stalking back towards it.

* * *

Jeremy peeked down the hallway. Foxy was standing in the dim light in front of the statue, his attention apparently fixed on it. Jeremy let out a long, ragged breath and flopped down into the crappy old office chair behind the desk.

The stupid fan was blowing in his eyes. With adrenaline pouring through his veins, he hardly cared.

Then he noticed a light blinking on the phone.

What the hell? Another message? But he hadn't heard the phone ring, and it was way too crappy a system to support message delivery. His hand shook as he reached out to hit the "Play" button.

"Erm, hallo? Is this recording?"

That wasn't his boss. It sounded like some fancy English dude. Maybe someone confused, because who the hell would be calling Freddy Fazbear's at - he peeked at the clock - two in the freakin' morning?

"Hallo! Erm, you're probably wondering why I'm calling. You're probably wondering *how* I'm calling too, since this is an ansaphone, but don't worry about that. Let's just call it timey-wimey and get on with it."

Jeremy forgot all about the animatronics for a moment and stood just blinking incredulously. "You're pretty confused, mister," he said out loud to the recording.

"Yes, yes, probably," said the man on the answering machine, and Jeremy jumped. "Only I'm not mister. You can call me the Doctor."

"How are you hearing me?"

"Yes, Strange, that, isn't it?" Jeremy could swear he heard a smug grin. "But never mind. Just accept that I'm terribly clever, and I won't bore you with how I found out that phone's serial number, went back in time to the factory where it was made, and added a time-space transceiver, before coming back to have this conversation."

A new voice broke in. "Would you just get on with it?" The voice was female, and if Jeremy wasn't mistaken, Scottish as well. "Sorry, Jeremy," she said, and he jumped again to hear his own name. "He just can't help reminding everyone how clever he thinks he is."

"Amy, please, our young Jeremy is in terrible danger." Jeremy's skin was crawling already; now he wanted to run. Screw minimum wage! But he didn't dare leave the room while those THINGS were out there. "Okay," said the Doctor. "You're trapped in a creepy pizza restaurant with a lot of robots, right?"

The Doctor paused, and it took Jeremy a moment to realize the question wasn't rhetorical. How'd he know where the phone was but not know for sure this was Freddy Fazbear's? "Uh, yeah," he said.

"Good!" said the Doctor. "That's wonderful. I suppose you thought this job would be nice and easy, but then those robots started moving, coming after you."

"Uh . . . yeah . . . what do you know about it?"

The Doctor tsked. "No spoilers; I can't tell you about the future of this place. But what's the biggest danger there?"

"Freddy," said Jeremy, "or maybe Foxy. Foxy's *fast*. Oh, and there was this creepy mangled thing . . . maybe I should call that one Mangle. Don't know where the hell that thing was hiding the last two nights . . . but they've all been trying to kill me."

"Good news! You're wrong! They're not what you should be worrying about!"

Jeremy let out a nervous chuckle. "Seriously? I've been trying to keep them away the last two nights, and now you tell me they're not actually dangerous?"

"Oh, Jeremy, no . . . and I'm very sorry, but they are actually very, very dangerous. It's just there's something worse."

* * *

Foxy's one good eye stared unblinking at the statue. He studied it more closely than he had before. It was surely solid, not animatronic. Not alive. Not flesh. Not enemy, not moving. He did not understand. It wasn't human, but it wasn't one of his kind either. It clearly wasn't a *child*. But that's all there was in the Pizzaria. There was nothing else it could possibly be.

It was covering its face with its hands, not holding them out in front, not ready to carry a pizza to a lucky young boy or girl.

The old rage suddenly swelled in his endoskeleton. What did it think it was doing? How dare it come here! It did not belong!

He leaned over to look more closely at the face behind the hands. If anything, the beatific smile had grown bigger.

* * *

"Have you seen the statue yet?" asked the Doctor's voice over the answering machine.

"Yeah," said Jeremy. "Creepy thing. What the hell does the boss think, sticking something like that in here? Looks like it belongs in a church, or a tomb or something."

"Funny you should mention tombs . . . I once saw *hundreds* of those in a tomb . . . ."

"Stick to the point, Doctor," said the Scottish girl.

"I'm getting there," he replied, clearly nettled. "It's not really a statue," said the Doctor. "It can move"

"Oh god," said Jeremy. "I thought I saw it change."

"It's called a Weeping Angel. It turns to stone in the sight of any living creature. I think that will include the animatronics, by the way. I can't explain now, but they're *technically* a little bit alive."

Alive? whatever. "Okay, so it's a statue that can move it's arms. How's that supposed to be worse than the monsters that wanna tear me apart? Foxy's got this huge sharp hook. Can't get more dangerous than that, I don't think."

"Listen to me, Jeremy. All the animatronics want to do is get rid of you. The angel wants to feed on you, and anyone else who comes here."

"What the hell's that supposed to mean?"

"Look, before I explain further, I think you should check the cameras."

* * *

This thing was not right. It was time the others were told. Foxy had his differences of opinion with the others, mostly revolving around him being stuck off in Pirate Cove, but if he was honest, they were all he had. Now.

He stepped back from the angel, then turned to walk out to the main dining room.

Over the noise of his heavy footsteps and the whirring of his motors, he never heard the sound of stone on stone behind him.

* * *

Jeremy pulled up the cameras. He had to be careful; his cheapskate boss hadn't given him enough batteries to run the screen all night. Sure, the thing could be tied into the power mains, but the boss was probably too cheap to rewire anything. Would explain a lot.

"It's okay," said Jeremy. "I can see them all. Foxy's in the main dining room now. He's not coming."

"No, check the statue, Jeremy!"

He switched to the camera for the left hallway.

"What the hell?"

The angel was gone.

* * *

Freddy, Chica, and Bonnie stared impassively into space as Freddy gestured. They could not speak in any ordinary way; their voiceboxes were too limited. But Foxy screamed, and that got their attention. They had been together too long to not understand that he was concerned, and anything that worried Foxy . . . .

An interloper? A threat to the children? And not just a grownup this time. Something new. Something that moved but was neither flesh nor animatronic was not *right*.

Freddy Fazbear turned his head slightly to better watch Foxy's movements. Outsiders never understood. The perfect day must never end. Their perfect moment would be preserved. Even when the monsters came at night. He'd kill them all if he had to.

He moved, his teddy bear body lumbering compared to Foxy's swift strides, but stronger and more sure. Behind him, he could hear Bonnie and Chica stirring. They followed Foxy to the hallway.

It was empty.

* * *

"Oh no," said the Doctor's disembodied voice. "That's not good at all. Any idea where it might have gone?"

"Gone?" asked Jeremy, incredulous. "It's solid stone! Where the hell could it go?"

"Oh Jeremy. I told you, it's not really a statue." The strange English voice sighed. "It turns to stone only when it is being observed. The rest of the time . . . they're fast. Faster than you can possibly imagine. Faster . . . Jeremy, who's the fastest animatronic in the pizzaria?"

"Foxy," said Jeremy, without hesitation. "I barely blocked him yesterday, and I saw him coming from the end of the hallway."

"He's a snail by comparison. They can move across a room faster than you can blink. And that means you need to be looking at it. Find it. Oh . . . but don't keep the cameras on it for long. That can be bad too."

"How?"

The Scottish girl's voice replied. "The image of an angel becomes an angel," she said. It sounded like a recitation. "First Weeping Angel I ever met came out of a video recording. And try not to look it in the eyes."

Oh this just got better and better. "Look, if I can't look at it on the video, but I have to look at it to stop it moving, what the hell am I supposed to do? Go out and play with the killer robots out there?"

There was a distinctly awkward silence from the speakerphone.

So this is it, thought Jeremy. I'm gonna die.

* * *

The hallway was empty. Freddy turned to face Foxy, his eyes burning with rage. They had to focus on the security guard, and this *thing* had distracted them all. If Foxy had invented it . . . .

Foxy understood, and shook his head. He squatted down and leaned forward as much as his endoskeleton would allow. There were scuff marks in the wax on the linoleum floor tiles, scuff marks that had not been there yesterday. Something had been here, something very heavy.

He looked up at Freddy and pointed at the scuff marks. He let out a long discordant wail, the only sound his damaged voicebox could make, and then stood.

Freddy leaned over to examine the scuff marks. Foxy was right; something had been here, something that did not belong. He looked Foxy in the eye and nodded.

Then he turned to Bonnie and Chica, nodding at each of them in turn. They all knew what to do.

The animatronics slowly fanned out.

* * *

Foxy's scream rang out through the back office and Jeremy flinched reflexively.

"What's that?" asked the Doctor over the phone.

The sound had come from the left, but didn't sound like it was right outside. Jeremy pulled up the left hallway camera on his screen. "It was Foxy," he said. "Oh crap, they're all there. I think they're trying to figure out where the angel went." He picked up his cold coffee, but his hands were shaking too much, so he put it back down. "Look, Doc, I don't know what you're planning, but you've gotta come up with something fast. They're gonna get bored of playing Where's Angel and come for me. I can stop some of them, but not all of them at once."

The Doctor sighed. "People just don't listen to me . . . look, the animatronics are not what you need to be worrying about. The Angel is far more dangerous."

"Yeah?" asked Jeremy. "So how come they're the ones I'm seeing? The only ones who've tried to kill me tonight are Foxy and Mangle. That Angel just ran away. Maybe it's trying to lie low."

"Yes," said the Doctor, "you can think that if it makes you feel better. But it's not true. It's hungry, you see."

Jeremy snorted. "Hungry? What the hell does a statue eat?"

"It feeds on time energy. Yours, mine, maybe even the animatronics, but it will prefer someone like you, someone who can leave the pizzaria, someone with the potential for a long and productive and perhaps, well, might I say 'history altering' life. The more possible futures you have, the more delicious you'll look to it."

Jeremy's eyebrows rose right into his hairline. "What does that even mean?"

The Doctor paused a moment, as if to gather his thoughts. "The Time Lords called them the Lonely Assassins. Lonely, becuase they cover their eyes to prevent accidentally looking upon another of their kind, so they can never look upon one another. They do it even if there isn't another around; it's a force of habit. Assassin, because they can eliminate you so totally and so efficiently that it can happen before you can breathe. But they kill you nicely. They send you into the past. This creates a time differential, which is what they feed upon. They might send you a week back, if they're only looking for a light snack, or they might send you back ten years. A really hungry one, like this, will send you back a lifetime."

Jeremy shook his head sadly. "Maybe that'd be an improvement. Maybe with a new lifetime, I wouldn't screw it up so badly."

"No!" said the Doctor, forcefully. "No," he repeated, more gently. "Jeremy, I know who you are. I know who you are meant to be. I know what your potential is, even if you don't believe in yourself anymore." He sighed.

"You should tell him," said the Scottish girl's voice.

The sound became abruptly muffled, as if someone was putting their hand over the telephone receiver. Jeremy could hear their voices but could not make out the words. They seemed to be arguing. But soon they came to some sort of agreement, and the Doctor spoke again. "I haven't been completely honest with you," he said.

Big surprise, thought Jeremy.

"Your boss thinks he brought the angel in, but the truth is, it already wanted to come. It's here for you, specifically."

* * *

Chica watched Freddy, Foxy, and Bonnie fan out across the restaurant. Foxy stalked towards the restrooms. Freddy went for one of the party rooms. Bonnie went for the front entry.

They had been together so long, the three on the stage and the one in his Cove. Singing and dancing for the children. Would a new member of the family be so bad? Maybe Foxy was wrong.

And there was someone else, wasn't there? Somehow she was sure there was another animatronic. But there couldn't be. Could there? It was the three of them on the stage, the one in his cove, and the one that . . . what? She culdn't remember.

She dismissed the thought. It didn't matter.

Foxy said the intruder had been in the left hallway, so she would check the right.

Her feet clanged on the linoleum. She scratched her beak. It could detach; perhaps if she took it off she would look more frightening. It certainly worked on the grownups. She wanted to get a good impression of the newcomer, but even if it was to become part of their family, she wanted it to know who had been here longer, who was more important. If it was joining them, it would have to know where it ranked. If it even existed. She still wasn't sure about that part.

She stepped into the hallway

She saw it.

The angel was real.

* * *

The Angel is here for me? Me, specifically? The English dude on the phone was obviously full of it. Full of what, he had no idea. "Yeah, whatever, I think I'm gonna get back to trying to stay alive."

He pulled up the cameras again. This time he decided to check the right hallway.

"Chica!" he shouted. It was that stupid chicken-duck-whatever the hell it was, with the pink underpants and the bib. (Pink underpants? He didn't even want to think about what that said about the sick creep who designed this place.) He turned to hit the door control.

But he couldn't.

The Angel was in the way.

It was standing right in the doorway, its arms outstretched. It wasn't smiling anymore. Its mouth was wide open, showing rows of pointed teeth, and its hands looked poised to snatch him up.

A scream died in Jeremy's throat as he stared at it, frozen with terror. The only sound that came out was a squeak.

* * *

Chica saw the statue, lit by the light coming out of the back office, arms reaching through the doorway. A memory came that she couldn't place, of sitting around a campfire with other children, while one held a flashlight under their chin and told a scary story. Maybe she was the one with the flashlight? She didn't know.

It didn't matter. That wasn't her.

She approached the statue. It did not move. That was a little strange. A grownup would have at least looked by now; it's not as if she moved quietly. Was it afraid?

She was now close enough to see its face, sidelit by the flyspotted lamp in the office.

No. Whatever it was, it was certainly not afraid.

* * *

"Jeremy? Jeremy? Jeremy, are you there?" The Doctor's voice sounded increasingly urgent, but Jeremey was transfixed. "Remember, I can't see what you see. Is it the angel, or one of the animatronics?"

The angel was absolutely motionless. Solid stone, as far as he could tell. Jeremy felt a bead of sweat beginning to drip down from his hairline but didn't dare wipe it away. He licked his lips, his mouth suddenly dry with terror. When he spoke, it came out at first as a croak. "It's the angel," he said. "Oh god, you were right. It wants to kill me."

"Don't blink!" said the Doctor. "Whatever you do, don't blink! It can cross the room in a blink. It can kill you in a blink!"

He hadn't wanted to blink, but that thought made his eyes burn, as he deeply, deeply wanted to blink. Suddenly not being able to blink wanted him to blink very very much. There was now nothing he wanted more than to blink. And then he had another thought that made his spine crawl. Facing the angel put his back to the other door, which was wide open. There could be anything waiting to leap through it, and the last he looked, all the animatronics were at the end of *that* hallway.

There was only one thing he could do. He backed slowly up towards the door. He had to close the door. He had to close it *now*. His hand flailed blindly behind him, terror sweat building on his skin with each slap. After what seemed a lifetime but was probably only a few seconds, he found the door control. He slapped it, and the door slammed reassuringly shut. He let out a ragged breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

That only left one problem.

He was facing a Weeping Angel, and even if he did know what to do about that, he didn't dare tear his eyes away long enough to do anything.

The animatronics would still be coming. He had to get his flashlight, he had to monitor the cameras, he had to manage the power that was even now draining away, but if he took his eyes off the angel, he would die. Sure, eventually the power would fail, the door would open, and they could come in and kill him, but that didn't matter if the angel could kill him first.

He was starting to understand why the Doctor said the angel was what he really had to worry about.

-*** TO BE CONTINUED ***-

(c) 2016 Kirstin Jones/Calli Arcale, all rights reserved except those granted under terms of service


	2. Chapter 2

**Angel of Vengeance, Chapter Two**

 **a Five Nights at Freddy's/Doctor Who crossover**

* * *

Dark.

Dark is good. Dark is alone, dark is safe.

Or is it?

It wasn't always. Once, dark had been very very much not safe, and very much not alone. Huddling in the comforting darkness of the storeroom, she knew this had happened before. Or something like it. Or maybe nothing at all; her mind was jumbled and fuzzy, and memories were elusive, slipping from her thoughts like oily eels, flashing silvery in the darkness and evading capture.

She pulled her mangled frame closer about herself, tucking into a tight corner. She should be out there, but the thought of facing the newcomer terrified her. She didn't understand why. Nothing should terrify her! She is the terrifying one!

But no, that wasn't really true.

There was something much more terrifying out there.

A memory slithered up from the depths, flashing through the darkness of her mind. Before it slipped away, a thought passed through her mind.

-It's all happening again . . .

* * *

"Jeremy? Jeremy!"

The Doctor's voice cut through Jeremy's terror. He tried to speak, but his mouth had gone dry. So he licked his lips, swallowed, and tried again. "Yeah? Got any ideas, Doc? Because if not, I'm gonna be dead in a few minutes. That door's gonna eat up the power, and then the animatronics are gonna come in. I don't think they'll care about this angel."

"Yes, erm. About that," said the Doctor. "Look, the animatronics want you gone, but I rather think they'll want that thing gone even more."

"What?" asked Jeremy. "Look, it's my life that's at stake here! I'm not betting my life that they're more interested in the angel."

"Yes, well, you'll just have to trust me," said the Doctor. He sounded impatient. "You have to get out of that room. The Angel has a plan, and it depends on capturing you, specifically. Amy, do you have the blueprints yet?"

The girl's voice replied. "Got 'em."

"Good! Good . . . ah. Jeremy, there's a storeroom down the left hallway. It has a door, and if you can get in there, the angel won't be able to reach you."

Jeremy wanted to laugh and cry at once. "It has hands, you idiot, and it's made of stone! How's a door supposed to stop it?"

"It won't, but the animatronics will."

Jeremy was starting to shiver. Whether from adrenalin or the chill of sweat drying on his skin, he neither knew nor cared. "I see where you're going with this," he said. "But I don't like it. You're trying to help me, but if I run to that storeroom, I'm just as trapped. And I won't be able to watch the cameras."

"I know", said the Doctor. "I . . . I know. But you're almost out of time. Er . . . hang on, I have an idea . . . stand perfectly still. I'll need to disconnect, but I'll be back in seconds."

"Wait . . . what?"

But it was too late. The phone had already clicked silent.

Jeremy was alone with the Angel again.

It was a uniform gray, but weathered, and Jeremy had the sense of great age. He'd completely believe it was a statue if not for the vicious teeth-bared snarl on its face, which had definitely not been there before. Time stretched out . . . the Doctor said he'd only be seconds, but the seconds were way too long already, and he didn't dare check his watch.

His nose tickled.

No, no, no, no sneezing! He'd blink, and it'd get him! So Jeremy carefully scratched his nose, but the discomfort remained. He wrinkled his nose, and realized it wasn't just allergies; there was a foul odor permeating the room. The Angel? It didn't smell like stone. It smelled . . . musty and sour. Like mildew, and the foul stench of the trashcan after Thanksgiving, with the turkey carcass rotting away.

Yeah, that's it. Rotting meat. That was the smell.

Oh no.

He'd gotten whiffs of the smell before, but it had never had enough time to fill the office like this. But suddenly he remembered what he'd been doing before he saw the Angel. Why he'd turned towards the right door control.

Chica was right outside.

* * *

The guard was right inside. Chica had heard the other door slam; had the others come down that way, or was the guard just panicking?

She studied the newcomer's face from the side. If the guard had panicked, maybe he had a good reason, she thought. The newcomer's needle-sharp teeth gave hers a run for their money. But which was stronger, she wondered - stone or steel?

Would she get to find out?

The guard, they could kill, or stuff in a suit, to be killed when the springlocks released. The newcomer did not look . . . bendy enough for that. And then there were the wings.

Wings! The injustice of it suddenly filled her with rage. Chica did not have wings.

*She* should have wings.

It really wasn't fair.

Really not fair at all.

Her eyes narrowed, and in the dim light, a faint red glow appeared in each.

* * *

Jeremy's heart pounded in his chest.

Where was the Doctor? Was there any point continuing to wait? Maybe he should just close his eyes and let it happen. Get it over with, and then start his life over again. Sure, he'd be flat broke and stranded god knows where or when . . . but it couldn't be worse than this.

Jeremy stared at the Angel for an agonizingly long moment. It looked ravenously hungry, ready to pounce the instant its chance came. The Doctor said it wouldn't kill him; it would just send him into the past. So what were the teeth for, then? Scaring the crap out of him?

It was working.

He didn't dare blink. His eyes burned and his nose wrinkled from the stench but he didn't blink. But oh, how he wanted to. It would finally be over. He'd been such a failure the last ten years; would it really be so awful to let it come, take his life, and let him start all over again?

He closed his eyes.

Had it happened? Was it over? Would it hurt?

He cautiously opened his eyes.

The Angel was still there, exactly as he'd last seen it.

He exhaled. So the Doctor was right; the animatronics were able to freeze the Angel too. On the plus side, that did maybe give him a chance. On the downside, it meant he'd need the animatronics to get out of this. And it meant one of them was very, very close, and he had only the Doctor's word that the animatronics would be more worried about the Angel than him. And the Doctor was CRAZY.

He spared a glance at the phone. The light was blinking. Jeremy pressed the button.

"Hallo! It's me again!" The Doctor sounded way too cheerful, and Jeremy felt a sudden rage swell up inside of him. Who the hell was he to be so cheerful about this? He wasn't the guy with his ass on the line.

"Where the hell were you, Doctor? I'm gonna die here!"

"Yes, I mean no, I mean, not if we can help it," said the Doctor. "Okay, I cheated a little. There's now a lock on the storeroom door. It's a special lock, won't activate until you personally pass through it."

Now Jeremy actually did laugh. "How the hell's that supposed to work."

The Doctor muttered something unintelligible.

"Doctor," said the Scottish girl, "be nice. He can't possibly know, and honestly, I don't really understand it either and I've seen it."

"All right," the Doctor said, exasperated. "Jeremy, just trust me."

"Trust you? The even crazier phone guy? The other phone guy, he's at least trying to give me advice for surviving; all you're doing is scaring the crap out of me!"

"Yes, I know. Um."

The Doctor went silent for a moment.

In front of Jeremy, the Angel loomed large. Even knowing that the repulsive smell meant it was being watched and could not attack, Jeremy could not bring himself to relax.

Statues had always frightened Jeremy. He wasn't sure why; maybe it was their empty eyes, or the frozen expressions that never quite seemed right. Something primal, reaching right down into his subconscious and giving it a sharp twist. He'd spent most of his life convincing himself that was bull, and the last two days realizing it totally wasn't, and now here was this thing.

"Look," said the Doctor, and then said nothing else for a while.

Huh. So he's lost for words too.

But not for long. The Doctor spoke more gently this time. "I know you're afraid, Jeremy. I don't know if you want me to lie to you and tell you it's all going to be fine, but you're not a child. You may be a *human*, but you're a grown one, and . . . oh, what does it matter. All right. It's going to be fine. I promise. I *will* save you. But first you have to trust me."

Oh, that made him feel SO much better . . . .

The harsh sound of Chica's mechanisms broke his train of thought. Jeremy's eyes widened as he saw her - it - whatever - lean in to peer over the Angel's shoulder. Chica's gaze swept the room, but did not linger on Jeremy. Whatever she wanted, it didn't have anything to do with him.

She stepped back into the shadows of the hallway, and Jeremy realized his time was almost up. She was going to leave, and then the Angel would have only him looking at it.

"Okay, Doc, where's this storeroom?"

* * *

Freddy was searching one of the party rooms. He had been in here before, oh, so many, many times before. All those smiling faces, laughing faces, taunting faces, screaming faces . . . . And, oh, there were children too. The children were important.

There. In the back. No stranger here, but oh, there were pictures. Pictures that changed, just like Foxy claimed the stranger changed. When you weren't looking, the children's drawings taped to the wall would change.

Freddy didn't linger to look at the pictures. He knew them too well. They were nearly always pictures of him. As the public face of Freddy Fazbear's Pizza, he was "loved and adored by children everywhere", or so the posters would claim.

He didn't notice that today one of them was different.

There was a blue box in one of the drawings.

* * *

Chica could lose interest in the Angel at any moment; if we going to run, it had to be now. Jeremy wiped his sweaty palms dry on his khakis. His mom had bought them, wanting him to look a little more professional in this job, hoping he could hold it down for more than a week, long enough to make the social worker happier at least, and he hoped she wouldn't lecture him about sweat stains and proper garment care AGAIN, and then he wondered why he was worrying about his pants at a time like this . . . .

Stalling. Delaying the inevitable. But he didn't have any more time left.

He took a deep breath, picked up his flashlight, hit the door control, and ran.

His cheap tennis shoes squeaked on the linoleum, and his heart pounded in his chest, pulsing in his ears, and he ran. He was out of physical condition, but this was a short run, just fifteen yards, but it seemed an eternity running down the hall, maybe with a murderous lawn ornament at his heels, maybe with a murderous bear or rabbit ahead of him. He still had no idea where the other animatronics were, and every moment expected to see Foxy's vicious hook swinging out the darkness at his head . . . .

And then he was at the door. In his panic, it took two tries to get a decent grip on the handle, but once he did, it opened easily and he dashed inside, slamming the door behind him.

He heard a click as the door locked, and he collapsed to the floor, panting for breath, his legs shaking as adrenalin coursed through his system. For a moment, he wasn't sure whether he was going to cry or throw up, but in the end, neither happened. His breathing began to ease a little and he started to look around.

There were shelves. He'd seen this place on the cameras before. Sometimes Bonnie came in, so now he was very glad for the lock.

Wait . . . lock? How the hell had this room gotten a lock? It didn't have one before . . . or did it?

He blinked. There was a very unsettling feeling, as he both remembered the room having a lock, and the room *not* having a lock. If there had been a lock, why was the door always open when he'd check the camera? How was Bonnie getting in? Or maybe it just hadn't been locked before.

The Doctor had seemed to say he'd changed it somehow, so it would lock only after Jeremy himself entered. But that didn't make sense. How could the Doctor have gotten in here to fix that?

And that made him think of something else.

He didn't have the phone anymore. He couldn't talk to the Doctor anymore. No more crazy English phone guy.

He'd never missed him more.

Now what?

And then he heard something. A scraping sound. Something was moving.

He wasn't alone.

-*** TO BE CONTINUED ***-

(c) 2017 Kirstin Jones/Calli Arcale, all rights reserved except those granted under terms of service


	3. Chapter 3

**Angel of Vengeance, Chapter Three**

 **a Five Nights at Freddy's/Doctor Who crossover**

Jeremy was still panting from the short run from the office to the storeroom and shaking from adrenalin. The Angel was trapped in the office with Chica, at least until Chica got bored and moved on, and Jeremy didn't really trust this door, no matter what the Doctor had said.

He heard the noise again, and tried very hard to pretend that he had imagined it. He couldn't face the possibility that . . . .

No. He wasn't going to think it. It didn't matter, anyway. Either he was trapped in here alone and would starve, or he was trapped in here with an animatronic and would be murdered. So, might as well assume the best. Right? Right. Because that totally always worked. Right.

His flashlight's batteries wouldn't last if he kept it on. He turned it off, and the tiny cone of light disappeared. The darkness pressed heavily in around him.

He pressed his ear firmly against the door. Any second, he expected to hear pounding as the Angel tried to get in, but he could hear nothing. He thought he heard one of the animatronics, faintly in the distance, but that was all.

He sighed deeply and slid down the door until he was sitting on the floor. As long as he remembered that he hadn't heard that noise, he could find comfort in the darkness. Darkness didn't judge, and in this moment of stillness, he could imagine the entire universe was confined to his head.

How had his life come to this point? He was an adult, but he damn well didn't feel like one. The past ten years, his life had been spiraling further and further down. He knew most people were supposed to hate middle school, and that's certainly where it had all started to go wrong for Jeremy. But he'd gone through all the usual checkpoints of life after that — driver's license at 16, registering for selective services at 18, the party at the bar when he turned 21 — but somehow instead of feeling more in control, with each step he felt like he was moving further away.

And then there was Sally.

A sound startled him out of his brooding. Foxy was screaming again, an outraged howl that pulled Jeremy's frayed nerves tighter than ever. Not close by.

What was going on out there?

—

"What's going on in there?" asked Amy Pond.

The Doctor didn't answer. He was too busy slamming his palm into his forehead. He sighed, then leaned forward heavily on the TARDIS console. The rich, golden light inside the TARDIS console room was no comfort. He looked up at the monitor, frowned at the inscrutable readings flowing across it, then glared at the telephone. "Of course he forgot to take the ansaphone with him."

"Well of course," replied Amy. The tall, willowy Scot rolled her eyes and struck a pose with her hands on her hips. The Doctor was such an idiot sometimes. "It's what, 1986? 1989? Everybody had a corded phone then, didn't they? He probably doesn't even know you *can* have a phone that works when it's not plugged in." She paused a moment. "Would it even work not plugged in? The whatsit you put into the phone, will it make it work without being plugged in?"

"Yes, of course it will," said the Doctor, exasperated. He ran his fingers through his hair, then finally straightened up and adjusted his bowtie. Clearly, he was getting something of a grip on himself. "But you're right, of course. I should have told him to bring it along. I didn't, so now he's on his own."

"I still don't understand why we can't just go in there with the TARDIS and pull Jeremy out of there."

The Doctor didn't answer right away. He was tapping on the screen with a very serious look on his face. Amy sighed. Traveling with the Doctor was amazing, but he just didn't make very much sense most of the time. Instead of just materializing right there in that weird pizza restaurant with the suspicious-smelling carpet and plucking Jeremy right out of the jaws of disaster, or even intercepting him outside the restaurant, on the way in to work, they were doing this whole elaborate business of traveling back in time to leave things that would help him out later. Like the phone. And now that weird door lock.

The Doctor tutted. "See this?" he asked. He swung the monitor around so Amy could see. It didn't help; the readouts were in Gallifreyan. "The Blinovitch quotient is off the charts. The Angel's probably going to strike soon."

"So we should just go right in there!"

"No," said the Doctor, firmly. "I've explained this already. It isn't just about rescuing Jeremy. We have to neutralize the Angel as well. And the only time we can do that is at night, because that's when the animatronics are allowed to roam."

They'd visited during the day, scouting the place out, and Amy had not liked the animatronics one bit. They'd smelled terrible - worse than the carpet, which was saying something - and although they'd just moved jerkily along with a collection of badly-synched songs about pizza and fun, there had nevertheless been something very "off" about them. The kids all seemed to love them, but in a way that Amy simply couldn't share. She'd never felt so more separated from childhood than in that restaurant, faced with something kids loved but which made her skin crawl.

Usually, the Doctor loved anything kids loved; he seemed like an overgrown child himself most of the time. But this hadn't been one of those times. It was like he knew something. No, not *like* he knew something. Amy knew the Doctor well enough. He *did* know something. So she'd just have to get him to tell her.

She looked across the console at him. He glanced back out of the corner of his eye, and then pretended he hadn't. Yep. Definitely hiding something. Well, she could be patient too.

—

Chica was just about finished being patient. Her eyes narrowed and her beak opened, exposing all her teeth, but it didn't flinch. (Why would a bird have teeth? Once upon a time, before, long before, maybe she would have wondered. Not any more.) She reached out to touch the newcomer. Maybe if she gave it a poke it would react.

Her hand clunked against cold, lifeless stone.

She turned her head to the left, then to the right, examining the statue. For that was all it was. All it could be. It wasn't alive. It wasn't even animatronic! It was solid stone.

She pushed harder, the steel of her endoskeleton squashing the foam rubber and felt that covered her hands, to a point that surely would have caused excruciating pain to a human. But the statue's surface had no give in it at all. It was stone. It wasn't real at all.

She leaned back. Foxy had seemed so certain about the newcomer. And *something* had clearly been in the other hallway. But this wasn't real. This was a statue. It hadn't been here before, during the day, but that didn't mean anything, so clearly this was not the newcomer. She had to find the real newcomer.

It was a pity none of them could really describe anything. They had no voices. All they could do was scream. So all they could do was move on. And on. And on. Round and round and back to where they started, every morning, every night, always the same thing, over and over and over and over . . . .

In the distance, she heard Foxy scream. He had found something.

Chica lost all interest in the statue and turned to walk back down the hallway towards the main room.

Behind her, where no one saw, the statue moved.

—

Foxy screamed again, letting out the discordant howl that was his only form of communication. He'd found something that the others needed to see.

While Chica had checked the left hallway and Freddy had checked one of the party rooms, Foxy had checked the other.

The room was filled with cafeteria-style tables, each covered with a disposable plastic tablecloth. Party hats were laid out at each spot, ready for any number of birthday parties the next day. It was all completely untouched.

But the pictures on the wall . . . Foxy had wanted to find the angel, but he couldn't ignore the pictures. He'd been marked Out of Order for so very long, and he missed seeing children. He knew why he was marked out of order. It hadn't been his fault! He hadn't meant to harm the boy! But there it was. So sometimes at night, he would wander into the party rooms and look at the pictures the children had left.

They weren't normal pictures. They would change sometimes, and not just when there were children around to pin up new pictures.

Today they had changed far more than was normal.

Freddie was the first to arrive, stomping into the room on his heavy feet. Chica was close behind. If her face could show any emotion, it would be murderous rage, but as it was her face was as blank as any of theirs. Bonnie was last to arrive.

The other animatronics stared at him, waiting for him to show them what was so important.

He raised his hook and pointed at one of the pictures.

There was a drawing of an angel, its hands covering its face just as Foxy had first seen, and also a drawing of a blue box, with two figures standing next to it. Grownups, surely, and Bonnie began to emit a low whine that could have been a growl. Why were the children drawing grownups? They never drew grownups! At least, not when there was anything good happening.

Foxy tapped the picture of the grownups with the blue box. There was a man in a bowtie, and a woman with red hair. They seemed to be talking to the children.

Well, the man was talking to the children. But the picture had changed since Foxy had first seen it. Now the woman was staring at the next picture, which was just a picture of the angel. She looked very worried.

Foxy tapped the picture of the angel now, and turned to the other animatronics, as if to say "see! this is what we're looking for!" But how had the children drawn pictures of it, if it hadn't been there during the day? None of them had seen it then, so where had it come from? These pictures had been drawn days, maybe even weeks before. Some were years old, yellowing and curled at the corners.

Freddy laughed. Foxy's eyes narrowed and he snarled. Chica laughed too. They didn't believe him! Even though the pictures had changed, which only ever happened when something was important.

He punched his hook through the picture of the angel and ripped it off the wall, leaving a scar in the plasterboard wall. Bonnie made a noise and leaned in, so Foxy turned back to look at where the picture had been.

There was writing.

"FOXY: THE IMAGE OF AN ANGEL BECOMES AN ANGEL"

Foxy's eyepatch flipped up in surprise. He looked down at the paper impaled on his hook. With his other hand, he grasped the paper. This was difficult; he was not very dextrous. But despite that, he could be very gentle when he set his mind to it, and he managed to gently peel the crumpled paper back.

The crayon drawing of an angel was snarling back at him.

—-

The Weeping Angels are ancient.

Not even the Time Lords know exactly how they got started. Or perhaps they do, and just don't want to say.

Over the millennia, they have become scattered across the cosmos. They are drawn to places of temporal shock, and communities with great potential, for it is essentially that potential upon which they feed, the potential to influence events downstream, the difference between the "is" and the many "could bes". The greater the potential, the greater the feast.

This angel had been alone a very, very long time. It was far from the only angel on Earth, but this one had no truck with the others. Sometimes angels would cooperate, but mostly they worked alone. Working together meant they could be a little less lonely, but it also made them vulnerable to one anothers' gaze. You can only cover your eyes so long before you just have to risk a look . . .

Angels are fierce, fast predators, but they are also astonishingly patient. Like many ambush predators, they don't need to feed very often. They can afford to wait for only the best prey.

And like some predators, they enjoy playing with the prey first.

The human had left the room, gone down the hallway where the angel had started out. But there were the others. The angel did not know what to think of them. They were not really robots. Robots could be dealt with. Push a little electrical current the right way, short them out, even make them walk backwards. But there was clearly something else. They couldn't possibly be alive, and yet they had frozen the angel.

A threat? Perhaps. It would be worth investigating.

Preferably *after* dinner.

The angel moved.

-*** TO BE CONTINUED ***-

(c) 2017 Kirstin Jones/Calli Arcale, all rights reserved except those granted under terms of service


	4. Chapter 4

**Angel of Vengeance, Chapter Four**

 **a Five Nights at Freddy's/Doctor Who crossover**

Dark, but not alone anymore.

She peered out through the gap under the bottom shelf of the storeroom. The new guard was curled up on the floor, his back to the storeroom door. She struggled to remember the faces of the guards who had come before, spending their nights being hunted until, inevitably, either they had fled or were killed.

This one had not been there long enough for true terror, and as she examined his face in the dim light from under the door, something in her stirred. She did not know what it was.

Why had he hidden in here, of all places? Here with _her?_

He must be very stupid, or else very afraid. Even the other animatronics rarely came in here, leaving her alone where they wouldn't have to look at her, be reminded of what they struggled to remember, the horrible thing that now was just a metallic buzz in the back of her brain, lost with all the other memories, the yesterdays that never were...

He had his ear pressed against the door, and his eyes were wild. Listening.

For the newcomer? Yes. Oh yes, that would terrify someone into running straight to her twisted endoskeleton and powerful steel jaws. She knew that.

Yes. She knew. A metallic buzz, tasting of orange and smelling imposdibly of nutmeg, began to grow in the recesses of her mind.

She was remembering.

No. No! She would not let it happen again!

* * *

Foxy stared at the paper on his hook, with the crudely drawn angel snarling up at him. Then he shrieked, wrapped his fingers around the paper, and tore it off of his hook. He crushed the paper as hard as he could, rage driving his fingers to close harder than any human ever could, harder than he ever had any reason to do. The rubberized plastic over his endoskeleton shifted and bent under the strain, but did not break.

He looked up at the other animatronics. They were staring, silent and motionless.

Why was he so angry? He had no idea, and the rage began to seep out of him.

Freddy turned and examined the wall. He grasped the picture of the blue box and pulled it off.

There was another message.

"FREDDY: PROTECT YOUR FRIENDS"

Bonnie's ears twitched, and then the giant rabbit picked a picture entirely at random and pulled that off. There was a message there as well.

"BONNIE: IT WILL HAPPEN AGAIN UNLESS YOU CHANGE IT"

Who wrote these? Foxy had trouble thinking of any time but the present, but even so, somehow he knew nobody should be able to do this. This was very much not normal. No one should know which animatronic was going to pull off which picture.

Chica took a turn, ripping off a child's picture of herself with a full tray of pizza.

"CHICA: IT CAN ONLY MOVE WHEN YOU AREN'T LOOKING"

Foxy looked at the crushed paper in his hand, then again at the text on the wall. There was something he hadn't noticed before. The edges of letters were poking up from the picture below the one he'd ripped off. He ripped the next page off.

"AND YOU AREN'T LOOKING, "

Freddy moved to clear the next paper for him.

"ARE YOU?"

* * *

Jeremy back was cramping and he was starting to feel sharp needles stabbing up his left foot. He wanted desperately to move, but he still couldn't shake the thought that something was shut in here with him. The sweat from before was cooling on his skin, leaving him feeling cold and clammy.

He shivered, and his numb foot slipped out from under him. He came crashing down on his backside and barely stifled a cry.

Ah, it didn't matter anymore. Might as well get comfortable. He stuck his left foot out straight in front of him, then set the flashlight down and started massaging the back of his knee, trying to get circulation back into the foot.

Less than a week at this job, and it was all gonna end. This was gonna be his big break.

He smiled sadly in the darkness. Big break? A minimum wage job being chased around by freaky robots all night? Yeah, he'd screwed his life up all right, if this was his big break. Maybe at least now it'd be over.

Sally. He'd tried so hard to forget, but sitting in the darkness made it really hard not to see her face, smiling at him, trusting him. That was why he'd run off, of course. She'd trusted him, and he'd failed her, and he couldn't face that.

No. Not just failed. He'd _betrayed_ her.

You couldn't recover from a thing like that. Screw up that badly, you were garbage. He'd been crazy to try and make another go at life. His mom had hauled him out of the dark pit of despair he'd buried himself in, dragged him to the cabin, dried him out, made him look at himself in the mirror. She'd dragged him to the meetings, made him see himself as worth giving a shot. It was really for her that he'd gotten this job, and she'd been so _proud_ , even though it was a stupid job whose only requirements were "alive" and "too dumb and desperate to say no".

But it was gonna kill him. He should have said no to the job, should've held out for something else. Awful hard with his record, but he should've tried. And he'd known that at the time. Truth was, he'd only barely cared. And pretty soon it wasn't gonna matter.

He figured he should be relieved. But somehow he wasn't.

It was oddly disquieting to realize he actually didn't want to die yet. He wanted to live. He didn't want to die, his future sucked away by this creature that looked like a statue but somehow could move like greased lightning when it wanted to. His mother needed him, yeah, but he had his whole life ahead of him. He'd screwed up a lot in his life, but he was still young. He couldn't undo what he'd done and certainly not what he hadn't done, but he could move forward, and right now, he wanted that very much. He wasn't just afraid of the unknown now. He was afraid of never getting to see what the future held.

He wanted to live!

And then he heard it again.

Stone, scraping over lineoleum, doubtless leaving huge gouges. Asshole manager better not want him to buff that out.

And then it stopped.

Oh sweet Jesus. It was right outside the door, wasn't it?

Nothing like terror to concentrate a man's life on God, right? That's what they said at the meetings. Well, no, not exactly. He was supposed to recognize the Almighty and surrender himself, having realized in the depths of his despair and dependency that it was God who would understand and forgive. But he didn't deserve God's forgiveness. Maybe that's why an Angel was coming to kill him.

The door handle jiggled. Jeremy held his breath.

It was locked, right?

The handle clicked. Yes. Locked. Just like the weird British phone guy had said. Jeremey exhaled. Well, at least he was sorta safe, right?

Then the door jumped from a violent impact on the other side. He leapt to his feet to get away from the vibrating door, and heard another impact.

Something was trying to bash down the door. He didn't think it was the animatronics.

Under the shelf, now completely ignored by Jeremy, Mangle started to come out.

-* TO BE CONTINUED *-

(c) 2017 Kirstin Jones/Calli Arcale, all rights reserved except those granted under terms of service


	5. Chapter 5

**Angel of Vengeance, Chapter Five**

 **a Five Nights at Freddy's/Doctor Who crossover**

 _MEANWHILE, TWELVE HOURS AGO..._

Amy Pond wrinkled her nose. The carpet really did smell appalling. The six year old children laughing and shouting for pizza didn't care, but she supposed they had lower standards.

Somehow, she'd always thought a trip to America would be more glamorous. New York City, Hollywood, Las Vegas . . . movie stars, rock and roll, burgers, and tough, rugged men . . . . Not that she was really into tough and rugged men, but somehow she'd expected them and now instead she was dealing with a young boy's birthday party. Tough, definitely, but like most overexcited young children, he seemed more rubbery than rugged. Right now, he was _literally_ bouncing off the walls.

His parents were nowhere to be seen. A couple of disinterested teens were ostensibly supervising while they colored pictures and waited for the pizza to arrive, but were spending more time flirting with one another than anything else. No one questioned her presence.

Well, no one except herself. As the only adult in the room, she felt as if she ought to be the responsible one, and ask her what she thought she was doing here. It was silly, but everything about this was silly, and of course what she was actually doing here would seem even sillier.

The Doctor had sent her in here while he fiddled with the security system. The Angel was nowhere to be seen, which she found a huge relief. They'd only gone back twelve hours, after all. And now she had to leave messages on the wall, messages to be hidden behind the cryaon drawings for the animatronics to find later. And she really had no idea which part of that sentence was craziest.

The good news was that the teenaged staff members were completely ignoring her. The bad news was they were ignoring everyone, and she was beginning to attract attention from the children.

"Hey, lady, whatcha doing?"

A young boy was looking up at her with wide eyes. "Um . . . I'm arranging the pictures. Do you want to help by drawing some new ones?"

"Sure," he said, then stood and looked at her expectantly. Amy scooped a fistful of crayons off the table and a sheet of paper, then shoved them at the boy. He took them and sat down.

Amy turned back to the wall. Working quickly, she wrote the text the Doctor had given her on the wall with a fat crayon, rearranging the pictures to cover the text as she went.

"Angel?"

The boy was standing at her elbow again, looking up at her with wide, innocent eyes. He'd seen what she was writing. "Yeah," she said to him. "Have you got a problem with that?"

The boy shrugged, losing interest. "You sound weird," he said.

She smirked at him. "I'm Scottish. You sound weird to me."

The boy shrugged again, then turned away, his attention lost. He sat back down with the crayons and started drawing.

Finally.

Amy finished her work, then slipped away. No one paid her any attention.

* * *

 _MEANWHILE, NOW..._

The guard was whimpering now, terrified, as the door shuddered under each impact. He'd stepped a little ways away from the door, but his back was to Mangle. It was too dark for him to see, but Mangle could see perfectly. She could always see, even when she didn't want to.

All those years ago, she saw it all, and when she couldn't stop herself remembering, she saw it again...

She emerged from under the shelf, sprawled on the floor and unable to stand properly. SHe could not remember why she was like this, a twisted endoskeleton with no suit to cover it up. Naked and crippled. For a moment, she wished the guard didn't have to see her like this, and she wondered why. Before, she'd wanted to kill him. Now she wasn't sure.

The door shook and quivered under another blow, and the guard jumped backwards, almost stepping on her hand. She pulled it back, then used the shelving to pull herself upright, making herslef small against the back wall and giving him a little room.

The door shook again. The guard fumbled with his flashlight. "Oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god..." His breathing was coarse and ragged, but he was making a visible effort to get a grip on himself.

The flashlight went on, painting a bright circle of light on the door. It vibrated, not just from the impacts but from the shaking of his hands.

She tilted her head to one side. When night fell, she hated the guard, wanted to destroy him or drive him away from the perfect moment, but now...

This happened before!

She remembered again.

He wasn't their enemy.

He was their friend.

They had to protect him.

But she couldn't go tell the others. She was trapped in here.

* * *

Foxy screamed, outraged. Freddy laughed. Foxy turned his head all the way around to glare at him, but the big bear didn't seem to care.

There was a loud noise in the distance, something heavy slamming into something else. They stopped their bickering, and waited. After a few seconds, it was repeated, and then again, and again.

Chica tapped the writing on the wall.

She was right. The wall was right. It was always right.

They had to find the Angel. They had to stop it.

* * *

The door shook again, and in the light from the flashlight, Jeremy saw plaster flakes raining down. The lock was holding, hell even the door was holding, but the doorframe was crap.

And then he heard the whirring of a motor, close to his ear.

He kept his grip on the flashlight, but for a moment thought he'd leap right out of his skin.

There was one in here!

He backed away from the unknown creature, but that put him closer to the door. He swung the beam around to see what it was that he'd been doing such a good job of ignoring...

Oh terrific. Yep. Absolutely. Exactly what he thought.

That mangled thing was looking back at him.

To his surprise, Jeremy realized he wasn't afraid of it. There was absolutely no reason for him not to be afraid, but he wasn't. He'd run out of fear, somehow. The Angel had taken over all his fear reserves, and this thing didn't matter. This suddenly filled him with a weird resolve, and he actually dared to _speak_ to the thing.

"Uh, hey," he said.

The animatronic just stared at him, impassive.

"You're not gonna kill me or anything, are you?"

To Jeremy's surprise, it lowered its eyes and then slowly shook its head.

"Oh. Good," he said.

Another loud bang broke the air, and this time he could hear chunks of plaster falling. The Angel was making progress. Jeremy swung his light back to the door. "Um, I don't know if you know about this thing..." He heard the animatronic move, but he didn't turn to look to see whether it was shaking its head or nodding. "Well there's this guy. He's been talking to me over the phone, except I left the phone behind in the office and now he can't talk to me . . . whatever, anyway, he said if someone's looking at it, the Angel can't move." The door shook violently again, and there were now cracks in the wall on either side. Jeremy turned to look at the animatronic. "Be ready. When it breaks in, we've gotta look at it. We can't look away. We can't blink. If we blink, it'll get us."

He heard the animatronic move again. He hoped it was nodding.

The next impact pushed the door inwards slightly, and the door stayed like that.

Jeremy backed up as far as he could. He felt the animatronic's cold metal endoskeleton against his back and jumped, but it pulled itself up to the ceiling, allowing him to move all the way back to the wall. He looked up at it and smiled. "Thanks," he said. To his surprise, it winked back, then turned its face and its weird freaky tiny second face around to face the door.

The doorframe suddenly cracked, sending splinters and showers of plaster into the storeroom.

Jeremy gripped the flashlight tighter, and blinked furiously to clear the plaster from his eyelashes. He couldn't afford to be blinded now.

One more blow. The door fell in.

When the dust cleared, the Angel was there.

It was smiling.

-* TO BE CONTINUED *-

(c) 2017 Kirstin Jones/Calli Arcale, all rights reserved except those granted under terms of service


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